During
February, 2003, 80 educators -- Jewish Israeli, Arab Israeli, and Palestinian
teachers from the West Bank -- spent five days together in Turkey at a
conference they called "Continuing Dialogue in Times of Crisis." Israeli educator Miki didn't think she wanted to
talk. Palestinian teacher Ibrahim didn't think he wanted to listen. But in
spite of their mutual distrust, both agreed to be part of the school teachers
learning how to talk -- and listen -- to each other.
Afterward Miki said, "I didn't know it then, but
I really wasn't ready for any kind of dialogue. In my heart, I wanted to prove
to the Palestinians that they are wrong, that they are terrorists, and that we,
the Jews, are right."
Ibrahim said, "As a Palestinian, I really didn't
want to hear how the Jews have suffered. I didn't want to hear that people they
love have died, or that they are afraid."
Jews talked about fear of terrorist attacks, their
disappointment that there really isn't "anyone to talk to" on the
Palestinian side. Palestinians talked about the checkpoints, the degradation
and humiliation, and the disruption of all normal life in the territories.
Everyone talked about death, destruction, and loss.
Noah Salameh (CCRR@palnet.com), an exceptional
Palestinian facilitator from Bethlehem, is director of the Center for Conflict
Resolution and Reconciliation, on the Web at http://www.ipctnet.org/ .
Salameh described the challenge to him and other
Palestinians and Israelis ". . .be able to hear their pain, anger,
frustrations, and hopes. . ."
For many of the Jewish participants, it was the first
time they had met a Palestinian who was their social and professional equal.
For many Palestinians, it was the first time they had met an Israeli Jew other
than a soldier.
Palestinian Israeli Fakhira Halloun realized:
"Both sides feel powerless, and both sides have power, but it's hard for
them to acknowledge this."
"The meetings changed my life. I met the Israeli
enemy, and I know that we share a common humanity. I hope I will be able to
pass this experience on to my students and my family," reflected Ibrahim,
a Palestinian teacher, two weeks after returning home.
These educators intend to continue implementing
"Pathways to Reconciliation," a peace education program now in its
seventh year in 60 Jewish and Palestinian high schools.
It is sponsored by the Israel/Palestine Center for
Research and Information -- IPCRI -- founded in Jerusalem in 1988, and the only
joint Israeli-Palestinian public policy think-tank in the world.
IPCRI is devoted to developing practical solutions for
the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and is one the Web
at http://www.ipcri.org/ .

A meeting of minds may just lead to a
better educational future Israeli teacher Miki didn't think she wanted to talk.
Palestinian teacher Ibrahim didn't think he wanted to listen. But in spite of
their mu tual distrust, both agreed to be part of a group of about 80 educators
that went to Turkey in February to learn how to talk to each other.
Afterward Miki said, "I didn't know it then, but
I really wasn't ready for any kind of dialogue. In my heart, I wanted to prove
to the Palestinians that they are wrong, that they are terrorists, and that we,
the Jews, are right."
Ibrahim said, "As a Palestinian, I really didn't
want to hear how the Jews have suffered. I didn't want to hear that people they
love have died, or that they are afraid."
Before the trip, Miki, a teacher from Israel's central
region, was anxious and excited. "What will I say to them?" she asked
herself. "How will I get to know them? What if this doesn't work? What the
hell am I doing here?"
Kobi stood off to the side, reading a mystery novel.
Until almost the very last minute, he wasn't sure he would come.
"I was a combat soldier, and I've done reserve
duty during this intifada. Friends of mine have died fighting Palestinians. I
didn't know what I wanted to say, and I didn't know what I wanted to
hear."
But his school adopted the "Pathways to
Reconciliation" project, and he wanted to be part of it, so he had to come.
Ibrahim, a Palestinian educator from a village near
Jenin, stood with the other Palestinians. They have different passports and had
to go through a different security check. His attitude was a mixture of angry
defiance and an almost-submissive fear.
Later, Ibrahim said he realized he was becoming angry
because he didn't want to listen. "But I listened, and then we were able
to stop competing over who has suffered more, begin to empathize, and think
about what we could do to make things better."
This group of Jewish Israeli, Arab Israeli, and
Palestinian teachers from the West Bank spent five days in Antalya at a
conference entitled "Continuing Dialogue in Times of Crisis."
But this was not the usual academic affair. It was an
emotionally demanding, intellectually challenging, and morally troubling
experience for all, with each participant confronting his or her self as well
as the enemy "other."
These educators will be implementing "Pathways to
Reconciliation," a peace education program now in its seventh year in 60
Jewish and Palestinian high schools, sponsored by the Israel/Palestine Center
for Research and Information (IPCRI).
For many of the Jewish participants, it was the first
time they had met a Palestinian who was their social and professional equal.
For many Palestinians, it was the first time they had met an Israeli Jew other
than a soldier.
Some organizations avoid discussing the
Palestinian-Israeli conflict, or discuss it only obliquely. IPCRI's dialogue
went to the heart of people's feelings and its discussions were aimed at
creating a feeling of equality between the Israelis and Palestinians.
"This is the first time I ever felt equal to
Jews," said Ibrahim. "Most of the Jews I know are soldiers, and they
are more powerful than me. They have guns and they rule my life. They decide if
I can pass through a checkpoint or if they will shoot me. In the discussions, I
felt equal, so after a while, I felt less angry."
But equality is difficult.
"One of our roles as facilitators," said
Fakhira Halloun, an Arab from northern Israel, "is to help the
participants realize how complicated these issues are. Both sides feel
powerless, and both sides have power, but it's hard for them to acknowledge
this."
Explained Michal Levin, who co-facilitates with
Halloun: "Without facilitation, Israelis and Palestinians will just
reproduce the usual kinds of power relations, with endless cycles of mutual
blaming and attacking. I believe that people want an opportunity to experience
themselves in a different way, but they are also afraid. Our job to help them,
sometimes despite themselves."
It wasn't easy. Noah Salameh, a Palestinian
facilitator from Bethlehem, is director of the Center for Conflict Resolution
and Reconciliation. During the first intifada, he was arrested and spent 15
years in jail. Because of security restrictions, he is the only participant who
wasn't allowed to come through Israel, so it took him three days to arrive in
Antalya.
"Facilitation is demanding, draining, and
rewarding," Salameh said. "As a facilitator, I have to neutralize my
own feelings and experiences in order to create an atmosphere in which the
group members can express theirs. I have to be able to hear their pain, anger,
frustrations, and hopes without putting my own needs into the process. It is
very hard but, if in the end they have learned something, if they have grown in
their ability to listen to each other and promote peace, then I feel rewarded
and satisfied."
But even introductions were complicated.
"I don't know what I want to say about
myself," said Nihaia Taha, from Kafr Kasim. "What do I want these
strangers to know about me?"
It didn't take long before conflict appeared, as
people introduced themselves by telling about their personal pain and
suffering. Jews talked about fear of terrorist attacks, their disappointment
that there really isn't "anyone to talk to" on the Palestinian side.
Palestinians talked about the checkpoints, the degradation and humiliation, and
the disruption of all normal life in the territories. Everyone talked about
death, destruction, and loss.
Halloun observed: "There is always a paradox
here. On the one hand, participants say they want to hear the truth from each
other. But the truth is painful, and so they start to feel guilty, and don't
want to listen. It is a struggle."
The participants wrote questions and comments on note
cards, and tacked them to the walls for all to read. "Shalom to the
Jews," one Palestinian wrote. "What is the source of your feelings of
suspicion and lack of trust toward Palestinians who are citizens of
Israel?"
"A question to the Palestinians," a Jew
wrote. "Do you personally know the mother of a shahid who blew himself up?
If you do know one, tell us what she goes through."
At one point, half of the group were blindfolded and
led around the hotel by other group members. Blindfolded participants didn't
know who was leading them. One blindfolded Palestinian instinctively sat down,
his legs crossed and hands behind his back, as he did when arrested not long
ago by Israeli soldiers. A Jewish woman was overwhelmed by feeling responsible
for a Palestinian.
Another time, a large number of balloons were put in
the middle of a room. The Jews were told they had to move all the balloons to
another part of the room within five minutes. The Palestinians were told they
had to do the same thing - but within seven minutes. Neither group knew what
instructions had been given to the other group - but neither were they told
that they couldn't ask.
They didn't ask, so they never realized there was no
contradiction between the two "missions."
The Jews began to form barricades to prevent the
Palestinians from reaching their balloons. The Palestinians responded by
popping the balloons to prevent the Jews from having them. Within minutes,
there were only pieces of torn balloons in the middle of the room.
They talked about this for many hours.
At several points, participants formed uni-national
groups.
Explained Halloun: "The uni-national groups had
two goals. On the one hand, they provided a safety net for people, a support
group; on the other hand, in an environment where people feel accepted and
supported, they can examine their most basic individual and collective
stands."
In such groups, each nation wrote a collective
narrative, describing its understanding of how the country came to the
situation it is in. In one group, the Jews couldn't even agree enough to write
one narrative and had to write two: one a traditional Zionist narrative, and
one a post-Zionist narrative that described Zionism as colonialism. The
discussion was heated and angry.
"I was appalled at the stances that some of my
friends took," said Shiri, a teacher from the Tel Aviv area. "I told
them that when I was younger, I had helped establish a settlement in Judea and
Samaria and that I was proud of that. Some of the Palestinians could hear that,
but some of the Israeli Jews couldn't stand it. They called me an
occupier."
Kobi said: "I always defined myself as a liberal
leftist. But I never really thought about it. When I actually sat down in the
uni-national group, I realized how important some things - Jerusalem, my Zionist
legacy - really are to me."
For the Arabs who are citizens of Israel, the
uni-national meetings were often the most difficult. Which group should they
join? The Palestinians from the West Bank? The other Israelis? Should they form
a group of their own?
They referred to themselves as "1948
Palestinians" (those who stayed in Israel) or "1967
Palestinians" (from the West Bank and Gaza).
Nihaia said: "For the first time, I really had to
face my own identity. Who am I? An Arab? A Muslim? An Israeli? I live in the
State of Israel, I study in institutions run by the State of Israel. I could be
killed by a terrorist, too, yet I feel my fellow Palestinians' pain."
By the middle of the fourth day, members of the group
was ready to try to solve problems. But first they had to learn to look at
conflict in a different way - in terms of needs, not in terms of demands,
positions, or stands. The facilitators told the teachers:
A state isn't a need - but a sense of identity is.
Sovereignty over the Western Wall isn't a need - but
the right to pray there is.
No checkpoint is a need - but dignity is.
Said Levin: "When you learn to restate a problem
in terms of needs, not in terms of positions, it is very liberating. People
learn that their position is merely one way of trying to meet their needs - and
it may not be the best one."
Some were able to reach agreements so creative they
would impress official Palestinian and Israeli negotiators. Others were stymied
and frustrated. Not everyone learned to be empathic, not everyone could listen,
and, even after four days of dialogue, not everyone wanted to.
Yet on the last night the mood suddenly became fun and
festive, almost manic. Despite the reality that they were about to return to,
many of the teachers began to dance debkas and rock together.
But then they returned to reality. When they entered
Ben-Gurion Airport, the Palestinians from the West Bank were separated from the
Israelis and underwent an additional security check. The entire group stood and
waited with them, even though everyone was eager to go home.
Shiri felt confused. "I knew that we needed these
security checks. I knew that our soldiers were protecting the State of Israel
at the checkpoints. But in Turkey we were all together and everyone felt safe,
and now they, because they're Palestinians, have to be separated. It's
necessary, it's humiliating to us, it's degrading to them. It's
confusing."
Ibrahim answers her: "The bad guys make it difficult
for all of us."

The day after 'The meetings changed my life. I met the
Israeli enemy, and I know that we share a common humanity. I hope I will be
able to pass this experience on to my students and my family," reflected
Ibrahim, a Palestinian teacher, two weeks after returning from the
"Continuing Dialogue in Times of Crisis" conference.
The cost for the five-day conference came to well over
$60,000, sponsored by a grant from the US State Department. While it was
clearly an important emotional experience for the participants, do such
meetings have any broader social significance or political importance?
These programs are funded as part of the "People
to People (P2P)" project. P2P was created under the 1995 Interim Agreement
of the Oslo Accords, based on the idea that "politicians can sign the
peace agreements, but the people have to make peace happen."
According to an official in the US Embassy in Tel
Aviv, P2P programs were meant to bring ordinary Israelis and Palestinians together
for dialogue and cooperative ventures, thus creating "the relational
infrastructure necessary to advance and increase support for the official peace
process."
The international community - in particular the United
States and Norway - provided the funding for these programs. According to most
estimates, this has come to over $25 million over the past seven years.
Many of the P2P programs focus on education, including
teacher training and curriculum development, in the hope that the teachers will
act as agents of change within their societies.
"Pathways into Reconciliation," IPCRI's
peace-education program, is one of the larger P2P programs. Introduced seven
years ago, it now operates in 60 schools (30 in Israel and 30 in the Palestinian
Authority), with the participation of 300 teachers in 200 classes. Recently
published research by Dr. Yifat Sassa-Biton from Haifa University found that
Israeli and Palestinian participants defined "peace" more broadly and
were less willing to support violent solutions than students who did not
participate.
Yet P2P programs did not prevent the current violence,
and since the outbreak of violence, most P2P programs have ceased to function.
According to Maya Kahanoff, of the Swiss Center for
Conflict Research, Management, and Resolution at The Hebrew University, the
Oslo process was mostly a "top-down program," involving primarily the
political, diplomatic, and academic elites.
Less than 5% of Israelis and Palestinians ever
actually participated in peace-related P2P activities. Yet, she maintains, even
small numbers of P2P participants can have a positive effect on the region.
"Each year a few hundred teachers influence
several hundred students. And all of them influence their families, friends,
and communities. Eventually, the positive effects of these meetings will
proliferate, even if it takes much longer than we had hoped."
She concludes: "It's important to know that
Israelis and Palestinians can meet together, with professional facilitation,
and discuss their differences rather than kill each other."